


the only proof that i need

by deanpendragon



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Doubt, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 18:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6868573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanpendragon/pseuds/deanpendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tadashi has doubts. He has them about volleyball, schoolwork, his friendships, the future and scores of other, less important things. But his very least favorites are the doubts he has about him and Tsukishima.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. doubt

**Author's Note:**

> title and idea for this are from paramore's 'proof'!
> 
> and just as a sort of precursor bc i feel like i should say it: i don't necessarily like when 'tsukki' is used in prose as tsukishima's name. the only reason i've used 'tsukki' here in place of 'kei' or 'tsukishima' is bc i think his nickname is appropriate to use in a type of fic like this--a tadashi-centric fic in which solely tadashi's thoughts are explored. i thought it was justified since well, y'know, it's pretty much tadashi telling the story. you feel me?
> 
> ANYWAYS..happy, happy reading!

Tadashi has doubts.

He has them about volleyball, schoolwork, his friendships, the future and scores of other, less important things. But his very least favorites are the doubts he has about him and Tsukishima.

He doesn’t blame Tsukki for these, though, because 1) it’s not his fault and 2) that’s just the way he is. Tadashi’s always known this. He should accept it, he should be used to it, and it really shouldn’t make him feel the way it does. 

Who Tadashi _does_ blame for these doubts are all the couples he sees at school. They hold hands and open doors for one another. They sit real close in the courtyard and carry each other’s books. Sometimes Tadashi even sees couples _kiss_ at school, whether it be on the cheek as a goodbye after the bell rings or out by the front stairs before classes start just because.

And Tadashi’s not saying he _wants_ these things from Tsukki, because he _doesn’t_ , but therein lies the problem.

He kind of does.

But he shouldn’t. Because these things just aren’t Tsukki. Tsukki probably won’t carry his books or kiss him on the cheek in the hallway just because or leave pretty flowers on his desk when he’s having a not-so-good day. Tadashi is aware of this.

But he can’t lie that it disenchants him to watch other couples parade around school with their love pinned to one another for the whole world to see, whether it be in the form of bouquets or valentines or candies or bright, happy beams. Tsukki does exactly zero of these things. It frays Tadashi’s already constantly frayed nerves, and this is an understatement. He wonders if Tsukki actually loves him.

And he _hates_ to doubt this because it’s just so unfair to the both of them. But where are Tadashi’s flowers—Tadashi’s bells and whistles and declarations of love from his own love?

So, he doubts.

Because where’s the proof?

*

   
It’s spring, so the road home is lined with blooms of regal red and gold.

“Do you like flowers, Tsukki?”

Tsukki hums. “Not particularly.”

Tadashi knows this. Tsukki knows that Tadashi knows this.

“What if I got them for you?”

Tsukki looks askance at him before he returns his gaze to the pavement that stretches out before them.

“You’d get me flowers?” he asks.

“I’d get you anything, probably.”

Tadashi reaches over and swipes his fingers across the smooth skin of Tsukki’s wrist. Tsukki’s grin is as fleeting as ever but it still makes Tadashi’s heart swell. When he goes to let his arm fall back to his side, Tsukki catches him with a loose grip on his wrist.

“They’d have to be really nice flowers,” Tsukki tells him conversationally.

“Purple and red. Got it, Tsukki,” Tadashi replies—Tsukki’s favorite colors.

*

   
They’ve been together for a long time. Since before Karasuno, since before (and then after) Tsukki gave two shits about volleyball, since before Tadashi even thought himself worthy of dating someone as cool and good looking as his best friend.

“Almost a year and a half,” Tadashi tells Hinata when he asks.

They’re alone in the club room and they try to keep their voices low. Tadashi’s pretty sure Tsukki wouldn’t be keen on the entire team knowing. He’d probably be mad—or _irritated_ , rather, because Tadashi can count on one hand the amount of times he’s seen him red-faced _angry_ in six whole years _—_ if he knew Tadashi had told Hinata.

“Whoa!” Hinata gapes. “That’s a long time, Yamaguchi.”

“It’s exactly eighteen months next week.”

“Exciting! I’m sure Tsukishima will get you something then.”

Tadashi nods though he’s unsure if Tsukki’s even aware of the upcoming occasion.

“And if he doesn’t,” Hinata beams, jabbing a thumb to his chest, “I will!”

*

   
Tadashi watches during lunch as a boy and girl hug each other in the courtyard. It’s a grand hug; excited and enthusiastic. He even picks her up and twirls her around once for good measure. Tadashi’s face heats up inexplicably and he looks back to his food. Tsukki stills across from him, chopsticks halfway to his mouth.

“You’re blushing,” he mentions. “What are you thinking about, string bean?”

Tadashi wants to say something that’ll make Tsukki blush too but chickens out.

“Nothing. I don’t know.”

Tsukki eyes him. “Are you sure?”

Tadashi nods and nudges their feet together under the table. He shovels bite after bite of rice into his mouth as he watches the hugging couple sit far too close to one another at the other end of the courtyard. But it’s no good. Tadashi’s starved for affection. He watches the curve of Tsukki’s throat as he swallows.

“Tsukki,” he says later on as they walk back into the building. He feels brave.

“What?”

“Can I have a hug?”

Tsukki stops where he stands and raises an eyebrow at him. With a steady hand, he adjusts his glasses. His eyes stare somewhere around the collar of Tadashi’s shirt for a few seconds before they flit to meet Tadashi’s open gaze. He needlessly adjusts his glasses once more.

“Here?” he asks.

Tadashi’s confidence shatters; a porcelain doll on travertine tile.

“Oh,” he mumbles. “I guess not, no.”

They enter the school.

*

Maybe Tadashi watches too many films of the romance genre. He constantly reminds himself that not every interaction has to be cinematic and symbolic. He thinks experience would have taught him this by now. Romance movies are big, fat lies.

“Nobody kisses in the rain this much,” Tsukki insists when Tadashi has them watch one together.

“Maybe _you_ don’t,” he teases.

“If I don’t, I certainly hope you don’t.”

Tadashi snickers and Tsukki shoots him the grin he saves for when they’re alone.

They don’t kiss a lot, so Tadashi savors the times when they do. They’re always more chaste than Tadashi would like. Tsukki is always the one to break them so Tadashi doesn’t push, though he really wants to sometimes. They usually stop right around the time Tadashi starts to squirm in Tsukki’s lap. As a result, Tadashi feels a pavlovian wave of disappointment when Tsukki puts his glasses back on (wherever, whenever). 

It’s kind of discouraging that Tsukki doesn’t even look remotely interested during the steamy scenes of the movie. Tadashi tries to take it with a grain of salt. He finds Tsukki’s hand and brings it to his lap, innocently weaving their fingers together.

Tsukki at least blushes at that.

  
*

   
“Y’know, one of the top three reasons why people break up is because of a high variance in physical attractiveness,” Tadashi tells Tsukki on a day he’s feeling especially insecure. 

His voice echoes in the empty gym. Tsukki grabs the volleyball out of the air when Tadashi bumps it to him and holds it under his arm. He puts his hand on his hip. Tadashi shifts his weight from foot to foot—he thinks Tsukki looks pretty sexy when he does that.

“Why are you telling me this?” Tsukki drones.

Tadashi figures it’s pretty obvious why he’d mention that, but Tsukki looks genuinely perplexed. Tadashi shrugs at him, brow furrowed.

“What are the other two?” implores Tsukki.

Tadashi recites his research, “Dissimilar ages and a difference in education, Tsukki.”

Tsukki nods like he appreciates the insight. He tosses the ball in front of him and bumps it to Tadashi. He bumps it back, but it’s a little off and Tsukki has to step to the left to receive it.

“Looks like we don’t have to worry about any of them, then.”

Tadashi flinches and misses the next bump entirely.

“You’re full of shit, Tsukki,” he mutters to himself.

“What?” calls Tsukki, standing from where he’d bent down to pick up the lost ball.

Tadashi doesn’t say it again.

*

   
Just because Tadashi lent his science notes to this blonde girl in his class does not mean he wants to kiss her. Which is why he is stunned into stillness when she sequesters him behind the basketball gym and leans forward with her lips puckered. Tadashi quite literally has no idea what to do.

“Hey?” comes Tsukki’s half-question, half-exclamation from a few yards away.

Tadashi lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The girl skitters off after a surprised yelp and Tadashi watches her go, brow pinched and mouth agape. Tadashi turns back to Tsukki.

He looks _pissed_.

“What’s wrong?” Tadashi asks dumbly.

“Take a guess,” Tsukki grumbles.

“That was _really_ weird. I only let her borrow my science notes, what the hell?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Sorry, Tsukki.”

Tadashi looks down at the notebook in his hand. It’s still flipped open to the page littered with tidy scribbles about genetic drift, except now there’s an addition in the margin. Tsukki snatches the notebook from Tadashi’s hands and glares at the offending blue ink. A pretty pink blooms over Tsukki’s porcelain face.

“Her phone number, too?” he groans. “How inappropriate.”

“Guess so. _Super_ weird,” Tadashi says again.

The paper crinkles under Tsukki’s grip. Tadashi cocks his head at him and Tsukki sighs.

“Sorry,” Tsukki apologizes randomly. “I know jealousy is unsightly. But—”

He kisses Tadashi then, _hard._ Tadashi’s toes curl in his sneakers.

It’s not the proof he needs—jealousy makes a lot of smart people do really impulsive and uncharacteristic things—but Tsukki feels _so good,_ and Tadashi is _so_ used to being the jealous one that he can’t help but feel just a smidgen of satisfaction. He thinks he’s earned that much.

  
*

   
Tadashi can’t find flowers growing that he thinks Tsukki will like, so he buys them. One red, one purple. 

Tsukki may not do things like this for him, but Tadashi can’t resist doing them for Tsukki. He’ll let his proof encompass and overwhelm them both while he waits impatiently for Tsukki’s to leak through the cracks.

Tadashi’s grandmother had given him the money after he’d told her what it was for. The purple is _catmint_ and the red is _geranium_ , the vendor informed him. Tadashi is gentle as he places them in a tiny vase from under his kitchen sink. He uses both hands when he carries it to Tsukki’s.

No one answers the door when he knocks, but it’s unlocked. He finds Tsukki on his bed facing the ceiling, eyes closed and headphones over his ears. Tadashi bites his lip. He places his gift on the top shelf of Tsukki’s desk next to a stack of astrology books. Carefully, he climbs onto the bed. Tsukki doesn’t stir when the mattress dips under Tadashi’s slight weight. He crawls between Tsukki’s legs and lies down. His chest is warm under Tadashi’s freckled cheek.

“My Tadashi,” Tsukki breathes as a greeting.

“Kei, love Kei,” Tadashi says back even though Tsukki won’t hear him.

*

   
“Seduce him!” suggests Hinata.

Tadashi raises his eyebrows, a balmy blush creeping over his face.

“ _What_?” he says. “I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can!” Hinata claims. “It’ll totally work, I bet.”

Tadashi smacks his hands to his cheeks and shakes his head back and forth.

“No, I mean, I _can’t_ do that. Like, me. Physically. I can’t do that.”

Hinata stares at him quizzically. “I don’t get it.”

“I’m just not—and we don’t—we don’t _do_ that.”

“Yamaguchi, use your words!”

“I mean, we kiss sometimes, but. I’m not sure if he really thinks of me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Um,” struggles Tadashi, “like sexy, and stuff.”

“But you’re dating?”

“So?”

“So he definitely does!”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“It is, though. That’s literally how that works.”

“I don’t know,” whines Tadashi. 

Hinata beams and pats his shoulder reassuringly.

“It can’t hurt to try, right?”

*

   
“What’s your passcode?” Hinata asks as he shakes Tsukki’s phone in the space by his ear.

“No,” is Tsukki’s definitive answer, “and why do you have that? Give it back.”

“Me and Kageyama just need to do some calculations for our homework! His phone is dead and mine is from like, two thousand and five, so.”

“Not even a calculator could help you morons.”

“What’s your passcode? What’s your passcode? What’s your passcode?”

“Yamaguchi, get an AED,” Tsukki requests with disinterest, “I think I’m having a stroke.”

“What do you have to hide, anyway?” asks Hinata.

Tadashi stares between the two of them. Tsukki sighs down at the assignment he’s trying to complete.

“You piss me off. Give me my phone.”

“Huh, Tsukishima? What’s on here? Huh, huh?”

Even Tadashi couldn’t answer that question. He only ever handles Tsukki’s phone when he asks him to skip a song, and even then the phone remains locked. But Tsukki having something incriminating on his phone is about as likely as him giving his password to Hinata in the first place.

  
*

   
“What do you think of me, Tsukki?”

Tsukki’s pencil stills over the page. They sit on his bedroom floor, homework spilling from their backpacks and onto the hardwood in front of them. Tadashi takes a steadying breath and turns his head to meet Tsukki’s gaze. Tsukki stares hard at him.

“Don’t,” Tsukki sighs. 

“Don’t what?”

“You know I’m not good at—that.”

“You’re good at everything, Tsukki.” Tsukki’s pencil starts to move once more and Tadashi hesitantly clarifies, “I meant physically. What do you think of me, y’know, physically?”

Tsukki sighs again and sets his pencil completely down this time. He presses the cool back of his hand to Tadashi’s forehead. Tadashi leans into the touch like a cat.

“Yamaguchi, what?” Tsukki asks. “Do you have a fever?”

“No, Tsukki.”

“I don’t see why you’d ask me that, then.”

“Oh. Okay,” Tadashi responds dejectedly.

Tsukki’s golden eyes rake over his flushed face for a good minute before he finally turns away. Tsukki shifts a bit closer to him but Tadashi’s too devastated to notice. He wonders if he’s too skinny, too slight, too tall, if his shoulders aren’t broad enough, if his freckles turn Tsukki off. Maybe he prefers a different hair color because brown doesn’t quite do the trick like his own blond does for Tadashi. 

He starts when Tsukki clears his throat to speak.

“Have you gotten to number three yet?”

*

   
They’re alone in Tsukki’s living room one evening just before his mother’s home from work. Spring rain taps pleasantly at the windowpanes like it wants to be let in. The television is on—some documentary Tsukki’s recorded about the planets—but Tadashi is entirely distracted. 

Tsukki is all blond hair and golden-brown eyes and pale, smooth skin where he sits next to him on the floor. They drink hot chocolate despite the mild temperature outside and Tadashi’s pretty sure Tsukki’s mouth would be nice and warm if he kissed into it. He watches the flex of Tsukki’s arm as he absently rubs his palm over his knee.

“You’re thinking about doing something,” Tsukki insists, still facing the television.

“Says who?” Tadashi protests childishly.

“I can tell. You’re so predictable.”

“I am?”

Tsukki nods, a delicious smirk on his lips. Tadashi squints at him. 

He flips the script.

He checks that their mugs are on the table behind them and tackles Tsukki to the living room floor. Tsukki lets out a yelp when his back hits the carpet. Tadashi beams down at him and Tsukki has half a mind to pluck his glasses from his face and place them on the coffee table before he pulls Tadashi down with him.

They struggle with one another across the floor, their groans of protest and huffs of laughter practically interchangeable. Tsukki’s on top, then Tadashi, then Tsukki again, peering down at him with wild eyes. Distracted by Tsukki’s weight atop him, Tadashi forgets to fight back. The narration of the television is mere background noise to their panting. Tsukki’s lip curls over white teeth in a wicked sort of grin.

“Not fair, Tsukki,” huffs Tadashi, “you’re stronger than me.”

“Barely.”

“And taller.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Tsukki singsongs.

“They’re not excuses if they’re _facts_.”

“Is that so?”

When Tadashi nods, the back of his head scrapes against the tan carpet with a soft sound. 

Tsukki goes on with a lilt, “I bet you look pretty hilarious right now, trapped under me like this. Too bad I can’t see you that clearly. Next time you want to wrestle me, Tadashi—and lose—please take my glasses off for me first.”

“But then I’d lose the element of surprise,” Tadashi pants.

Tsukki casually checks his nails. “We all have to make sacrifices.”

“I’ll just fake like I’m going to kiss you and then tackle you instead.”

The statement throws Tsukki off enough that Tadashi’s able to shove him to the side and roll them around so Tsukki’s the one on the ground. Tadashi proudly situates his knees astride Tsukki’s stomach and places his hands firmly on his chest. Tsukki looks up at him, eyes wide with bewilderment.

“You tricked me,” Tsukki tells him, voice laced with mock betrayal.

“All’s fair in love and war, Tsukki.”

“Whatever. Get off, string bean. You’re heavier than you look.”

“Nah,” Tadashi disagrees. 

He moves his hands from Tsukki’s chest to cup his face. A quiet moment drags between them. The narrator of the forgotten space documentary rambles on about Jupiter’s rings. Tsukki blinks owlishly up at him. Tadashi wants to put his glasses back on so he can see, but they’re all the way across the room.

In a spell of uncharacteristic confidence, Tadashi fingers the hem of his t-shirt. His hands tremble only slightly as he pulls it from himself. Tsukki blinks once more, so slowly, and then again. Golden eyes watch the white shirt crumple to the floor next to them.

“What are you doing?” he inquires.

Tadashi places his hands on either side of Tsukki’s shoulders and shuffles further down so he straddles Tsukki’s hips rather than his stomach. His fingers twitch when Tsukki sucks in a sharp breath. Tadashi bites his lip at the feeling of Tsukki’s sharp hipbones on the insides of his thighs and he shifts himself slightly, scuffed knees scraping over carpet.

Tsukki’s attempts to keep his composure are visible. His mouth slackens before he pulls his lips into a straight line. He keeps his eyes pointedly off of Tadashi’s tan, bare chest. Tadashi absently wonders how stark the contrast of their complexions would be if Tsukki laid his palm flat over his navel.

“We’re in a very compromising position,” Tsukki informs flatly.

“That’s kind of the point, Tsukki.”

He commands, “Off.”

Frustration prickles inside Tadashi’s chest but he ignores it and wipes the indignant pout from his face. He leans over Tsukki and presses their mouths together in a kiss, and there are a few slow seconds in which Tadashi doubts Tsukki will kiss him back.

But then Tsukki cocks his head, increasing warm pressure against soft, pliable lips. Tadashi pushes a pleased sigh into Tsukki’s slick mouth. His fingertips press into the thin fabric over Tsukki’s chest. Tsukki is always unsure of what to do with his hands in situations like these, Tadashi knows, so he’s surprised when he feels blunt fingernails scratching lightly over the tops of his knees. He drags them up Tadashi’s thighs but stops when he reaches the hem of his shorts.

Tadashi would push them up for him, but he’s afraid Tsukki will stop if he leans away for even a second. Flat on Tsukki’s chest, Tadashi’s hands belatedly start to shake with nerves. He moves one into Tsukki’s hair, fingers threading through silken strands of blond. All he can hear is the banging of blood in his eardrums and the soft, wet smack of their lips together. He squirms compulsively. Underneath him, Tsukki hums a low note. 

He’s about to try for it again, to kiss through his nerves, his shaking and his doubts, when Tsukki pushes him back with a firm hand on his chest. Tadashi leans heavily against it.

“Yamaguchi. Stop.”

Just like that, it’s over. 

Tadashi acquiesces. Tsukki slithers out from under him with ease and takes great care in dressing Tadashi back in his shirt. Tadashi sighs as Tsukki rubs his palms down his front to smooth the wrinkles in the white fabric. He probably feels Tadashi’s heart against his palm as it attempts to escape his ribcage.

In their silence, Tadashi learns that Saturn is the flattest of all eight planets. Tsukki probably already knows this.   
  


*

  
“Tsukki, have you ever written a love letter?”

Walking beside him, Tsukki turns his head to give Tadashi a look. Tadashi grins out of habit and Tsukki looks back to the road. He adjusts the shoulder strap of his schoolbag.

“If you haven’t received one, I haven’t written one.”

“Oh,” replies Tadashi, pleased.

“Have you received one?” Tsukki asks as he taps at his phone.

“I have, actually. I was seven and it was on Hello Kitty stationary.”

“How am I supposed to compete with that?”

Their footfalls and Tadashi’s bright laugh are loud in the quiet evening atmosphere.

“It’s the love letters _you_ get that I worry about.”

“What?” Tsukki inquires, his brow furrowing. Tadashi raises an eyebrow at him and Tsukki realizes. “Oh, from, uh,” he waves his free hand around in a vague fashion, “…girls.”

“Yeah. Girls. Lots and lots of girls.”

“You exaggerate, string bean.”

Tadashi stuffs his hands in his pockets and mumbles, “Barely.”

Jealousy looks terrible on him and he knows it. Not to mention the fact that Tsukki doesn’t like it. Tadashi curls his fingers into his palms and listens to the dull tapping of Tsukki’s finger on his phone screen. It’s a while before he responds.

“You have no competition,” Tsukki mentions offhandedly, “Tadashi has no competition.”

“Tadashi _does_ , though.”

He levels Tadashi with a bored look. His stare lingers for a handful of seconds before he turns away.

“You have no competition,” he says again.

Tsukki very rarely repeats himself, so Tadashi stays quiet after that. If Tsukki wasn’t holding his phone, he’d probably try to grab his hand despite being in public. Tsukki’s statement rolls around heavily in his head on their walk home like a wrecking ball.

Tadashi just wishes it were true.


	2. proof

It’s great to do homework with Tsukki; he’s intelligent, insightful, and efficient. But he makes it easy for Tadashi to get distracted. He constantly wants to talk to him or at least stare at him, the paper underneath his pencil often forgotten. He gets it done eventually. It just takes a little longer than it would if he were to do it on his own. He’s unamused by the irony of this.

Tsukki sits cross-legged on the bed behind where Tadashi sits at the desk. He eyes the red geranium on its shelf and wonders what Tsukki would do if he were to walk over and straddle him like before. He shifts in Tsukki’s uncomfortable desk chair.

“Tsukki?”

“What?”

“I’m going to ask you a question.”

“By all means.”

Tadashi’s breath hitches as he asks, “What do you jerk off to?” 

Tsukki’s response is immediate: “Not that question.”

Tadashi turns around in the chair so Tsukki can see his pout.

“You said ‘by all means’.”

“I thought it would be a homework question. Because we’re doing homework.”

“Well, yeah, but…” Tadashi trails off. Tsukki sighs.

“Does this seem like an appropriate time to ask that?” he inquires flippantly.

Tadashi looks around his room which they are in together, alone, at his residence, under no real time restraint.

“Uh, yes?” he answers.

“Well, it’s not.”

“When is? I’ll make a note of it and ask then.”

“Yamaguchi.”

“Tsukki.”

A noisy car passes under Tsukki’s open window. He looks back to his assignment and Tadashi thinks the subject’s been dropped and it’s really too bad; he’s painfully curious. He’s just finished penciling in the final question on his worksheet when Tsukki speaks again.

“What do you think I think about?” he implores.

Tadashi sets his pencil down on the desk. “Huh?”

“What do you think I think about, Tadashi, when I jack off?”

Tadashi’s toes twitch in his socks. He zips his homework in his bag and takes one more look at the small vase of red and purple flowers before he moves to sit on the very corner of Tsukki’s bed. Tadashi taps his fingers on his knees and ponders the question.

“I have no idea, honestly.”

“You have no idea,” Tsukki mimics flatly. 

Tadashi shakes his head. “Not really, Tsukki.”

He knows Tsukki doesn’t watch porn; he thinks it’s too staged. And he can’t imagine Tsukki obtaining any kind of girly magazine (or whatever the boy equivalent of those are) in one million years.

“I don’t know,” Tadashi admits once more.

“Really,” Tsukki deadpans, “you can’t think of anything.”

His tone is so _Tsukki_ and it drives Tadashi crazy in the best way.

“Guess not,” he shrugs. “Please tell me. Please?”

Tsukki makes a big show of neatly stacking the papers in front of him. He sets them to the side with care.

“Would you like a hint?” 

Tadashi is inexplicably out of breath.

“Very much so, Tsukki,” he pants.

Tsukki shuffles to the side of the bed and stands from it. He steps over to lean down in front of him, bringing their faces close. Tsukki has a way of making Tadashi feel as if his personal space was never really his to begin with. Tadashi memorizes warm, close moments like these. He stares through the lenses of Tsukki’s glasses with wide eyes. Amber flecks hide bashfully within marvelous brown irises. Tsukki’s breath is warm on Tadashi’s lips.

“Give me a kiss.”

Tadashi does. Heat swoops through his chest and stomach as Tsukki licks into his mouth. Rarely are their kisses so _wet_ and _deep_ like this _._ Tadashi’s hands scrabble at the collar of Tsukki’s shirt to keep him in place but it’s no good. Tsukki pulls from him and stands up straight. Tadashi whines at the loss.

“I loved that, Tsukki,” he blurts giddily. “But what’s my hint?”

Tsukki raises an inquisitive eyebrow at him and Tadashi cocks his head.

“Come on,” Tsukki tells him, wiping the drool at the corner of Tadashi’s mouth away with his thumb, “let’s go finish that documentary from last night.”

Tadashi blinks. “Okay, Tsukki.”

*

   
“Kind of,” Tadashi answers when Hinata asks about the outcome of his attempt at allurement.

“Nice!” 

“But I wanted it to go better,” Tadashi whines childishly.

“It’s not like you can’t try again, Yamaguchi!”

“I think that would just make me feel worse.”

Hinata frowns and spins the volleyball he holds in his hands.

“Tsukishima’s so strange,” he comments.

“I like strange. I like Tsukki.”

“Eighteen months tomorrow,” Hinata snickers, “I would hope you like him.”

“I love him. A lot, Hinata. I love, love, _love_ him.”

Tadashi blushes at the honesty in his voice and Hinata beams, eyes crinkling.

“And he love, love, loves you, right?” he chirps.

His bright smile falls when Tadashi shrugs helplessly. The volleyball stills in his hands.

  
*

   
A couple walks in front of Tsukki and Tadashi in the hall. Their hands swing together between them. They look so happy, Tadashi thinks, and the ever-constant doubt he feels pulses in his chest. It aches. It salts the wounds his insecurities create.

Tsukki walks next to him, tall and glorious. Tadashi reaches for his hand. He turns to look down at Tadashi when their skin slides together.

“What is it?” he asks, easily slipping from Tadashi’s grip.

“Will you hold my hand?” pleads Tadashi.

They step around the couple in front of him when they stop to kiss each other on the cheek.

“Later,” Tsukki tells him.

“Now,” Tadashi challenges, more insistent this time.

Tsukki doesn’t respond. Tadashi comes apart at the seams.

“Why are we together if you won’t hold my hand?” he wonders.

His voice cracks like untempered glass. Tsukki halts where he stands. His stoic face falls into one of absolute devastation and Tadashi turns away from him because he can’t look anymore or he’ll start to cry.

Tsukki takes his hand, then.

He pulls Tadashi from the hallway and out through the courtyard. Tsukki practically drags him across the paths that connect the school buildings, Tadashi stumbling drunkenly on his heels. 

Tsukki only stops when he’s pulled Tadashi behind the volleyball gym. He whirls around to face him, golden eyes huge with hurt or concern and pale face splotched with red. Tadashi sniffles. He stares hard at the dirt beneath their feet.

“What’s going on?” Tsukki asks, voice edging on panicky.

Tadashi looks up because, in six years, he can count the number of times he’s heard Tsukki like this on one hand.

“I mean it. What’s going on? Tadashi?”

He cards a gentle hand through Tadashi’s hair. Tadashi begins to cry.

Tsukki pulls him into his chest with a flat hand on Tadashi’s back. He rubs small, soothing circles through his uniform and Tadashi thinks of how much more he would enjoy this if he weren’t so distressed; Tsukki all close and comfortable like this. Tadashi shivers when he sighs into the skin of his neck. Tsukki’s fingers continue to thread through his hair. He’s warm. Tsukki is so warm and inviting in ways only Tadashi knows.

Tsukki steps back. Tadashi stares up at him with watery eyes.

“Do you doubt this?” Tsukki asks, tracing a steady line through the air between his chest and Tadashi’s with his index finger. 

Tadashi hangs his head. He nods. Tsukki swallows audibly.

“There’s no proof,” Tadashi says weakly.

“Proof?” repeats Tsukki.

“You don’t hold my hand, you won’t kiss me,” Tadashi warbles, “you wouldn’t hug me when I asked. Tsukki, sometimes I feel like—I wouldn’t want to be with me either, I _get_ that—but I just like being with you _so much_ and I wish you felt that way, too, and I—”

“At school,” Tsukki interjects.

Tadashi wipes his sleeve across his cheek and asks, “What?”

“At school. I don’t kiss you _at school_. I don’t hug you _at school_. I don’t hold your hand _at school_.”

“Well, yeah, but I,” Tadashi trails off.

Tsukki takes a deep breath, holds it, lets it out.

“Tadashi,” he says evenly, “I don’t like the fact that these people even know my name. Why would I want them to know a single thing about the most significant, critical, golden, and _gleaming_ part of my life?”

Tadashi blanches. 

“You and me?” he croaks.

Tsukki nods. Each shake of his head is a stitch that pulls Tadashi back together.

He stutters, “But—but at your house, I tried to, y’know, and you told me to stop…”

Tsukki blinks. “Did my mother not walk through the door five minutes later?”

Tadashi blinks back at him. She had.

“Still, we could’ve—”

“Five minutes,” scoffs Tsukki, “have some faith in me, string bean.”

Tadashi’s shoulders shake with his warbled laughter. Both of their faces flush and Tsukki’s hand covers his grin when he adjusts his glasses. Tadashi grabs him by the wrist and kisses each of his knuckles, their pink blushes turning a lovely scarlet.

“You never gave me my hint,” Tadashi tells him.

“I did.”

“Nuh-uh. You diverted me.”

“Did I now?”

“With a kiss. A really awesome one, though,” he’s quick to clarify.

Tsukki rolls his eyes. “The kiss was the hint, airhead.”

“Huh?”

“The kiss. It was the hint. _God_ ,” Tsukki groans, “you are so not allowed to hang around with Hinata anymore. He’s dumbing you down. Must be contagious.”

“Wait.” Tadashi pauses. “ _Me_? You think about me? When you do _that_?”

Tadashi feels dizzy—delirious with ebullience. Tsukki stares at him quizzically.

“Do you not think about me?” he implores.

“Yeah. Of course! Of course I do, Tsukki.”

Tadashi watches with delight as Tsukki’s blush rises to the tips of his ears.

“Okay then,” he says. “Glad that’s settled.”  
  


*

   
“What’s your passcode, Tsukki?”

“Nine two six two,” Tsukki tells him as he pours two glasses of ice water at the kitchen counter.

Tadashi swipes the screen right and enters the numbers, wondering if they have any significance. He forgets to ponder this when he sees the phone’s screen. He blinks down at it. His heart strums disjointed chords in his chest.

“Your background is a picture of me,” he states.

And it's literally that—just Tadashi. 

It’s a picture of himself he’d taken on the front camera one day at his house when Tsukki had left his phone unattended. Tsukki has arranged all but one of his apps—music—on the second page as to not obscure his home screen. Tadashi could cry. The fridge door makes a soft sound when it shuts after Tsukki returns the water pitcher.

“Oh,” Tsukki responds shortly. “Yeah.”

“It’s not even a _good_ picture of me,” Tadashi says, voice tight with emotion.

Tsukki doesn’t respond. But he does kiss the top of Tadashi's head as he walks by the couch to set their glasses on the coffee table.  
 

*

Doubt ebbs away. 

Proof washes in.  


*

   
“Alabaster.”

“Okay, I’m not _that_ pale.”

“You kind of are, Tsukki.”

“Compared to you, yes. In general, no.”

“I’m naturally tan.”

“Yes. You have beautiful skin.”

Tadashi stops in place and Tsukki turns back when he realizes this. He cocks his head at Tadashi’s wide-eyed stare. The late afternoon sun glows a dull orange over his face.

“What?” he asks.

“You’ve never complimented me like that before.”

Tsukki cocks his head further. “Have I not?”

“Not really.”

“Oh. In my head I do.”

Though he rolls his eyes, Tadashi grins.

“That’s not the same, Tsukki.”

Tsukki shrugs and starts to walk again. Tadashi skips to catch up.

“Want to go to my house?” he asks.

“Can’t,” Tsukki tells him, “there’s something I have to do.”

“What is it?”

“Something,” he answers in his typical vague fashion.

Tadashi bumps their shoulders together. 

“Whatever you say,” he lilts.

*

   
It’s still pitch black outside when Tadashi stirs from his sleep that night. Only when he hears a second bout of taps at his bedroom window does he realize what’s awoken him in the first place. His heart races instinctually. He checks his phone for the time: two minutes after midnight.

He would have been less surprised to see any member of Karasuno’s volleyball team than he is to see Tsukki, squinting at the flashlight Tadashi beams through his window.

“Hey,” he says when Tadashi pushes up the glass pane.

Tadashi rubs his fingers into his eyes. Tsukki’s still there when he reopens them.

“Are you alright?” Tadashi frets, but his concern is lost in the sleepiness of his voice.

“Better than.”

“Okay—?”

“It’s midnight,” Tsukki tells him.

“Yeah, Tsukki,” Tadashi says through a yawn, “it’s midnight.”

“So let me in.”

Tsukki slips through the back door when Tadashi unlocks it for him. They pad quietly to Tadashi’s bedroom. When he shakes the rest of the sleep from himself with a good stretch, he finally notices the way his heart hammers against his ribcage. Tsukki does these things to him (always has, always will).

“What’re you doing here?” he asks.

Tsukki grins. 

“Proof.”

Tadashi hadn’t even realized he had a backpack on until Tsukki pours its contents onto the bed.

“Flowers,” Tsukki says, procuring a sparse bouquet from the small pile.

The cellophane crinkles under Tadashi’s fingers when he takes it. He stares down at the daisies with big eyes, his mouth parting with a soft gasp. The petals are smooth when he runs his fingertip along them. The few drops of moisture that reside there sparkle in the dim light of Tadashi’s room. Tsukki grins again as he marvels at them.

They’re pink and blue—Tadashi’s favorite colors.

Tsukki shuffles through the papers scattered on the bed and plucks one between his index finger and thumb. It’s scrawled up and down with black ink. Tadashi sets the flowers gently on his nightstand and takes the paper with great care.

“A list of compliments I’ve thought about you but haven’t said out loud,” Tsukki clarifies.

The very first one makes Tadashi smile sweetly and the last one has heat rushing over his entire face.

“Don’t read them while I’m here,” Tsukki insists, stepping closer.

“Why not?”

“They’re embarrassing.”

“You’re the one that wrote them,” Tadashi replies with a roll of his eyes, but he sets the paper aside for later anyway. His smile won’t leave his face. His cheeks start to ache as a result.

“Here are three love letters. They’re probably terrible. A lot of it is plagiarized.”

“Tsukki, don’t _tell_ me that.”

He takes the white envelopes when Tsukki holds them out. The heft of them between his fingers is greater than any mere papers should be. He tries to imagine Tsukki sitting at his desk over them, scribbling furiously, taking a few seconds every now and then to flip through a book of poetry and copy down some of the lovelier lines. Tsukki’s quiet when he responds.

“You know I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t necessary. You know I’m not good at, uh—expressing myself. And what I mean. What you mean to me. Yamaguchi.”

Tadashi curls his hand around the side of Tsukki’s face. His skin is still cool from the outside. With the tip of his middle finger, Tadashi taps lightly at Tsukki’s temple. 

“The most significant, critical, golden, and gleaming part of your life,” he reiterates. Tsukki worries at his lip and turns bashfully away. Tadashi goes on, “You’ve got the words in here, Tsukki. Even if you don’t realize it.”

Tsukki takes the hand from his face, moves it over his heart.

“Here too,” he says, still staring somewhere over Tadashi’s shoulder.

Their hands fall away from each other. Tadashi sets the envelopes on the bed, heartbeat absolutely uproarious, and regards the rest of his proof with wide eyes. Tsukki follows his gaze.

“Candy, valentines,” he lists, “information cards about our star signs, Libra and Scorpio, uh, there’s some museum tickets for this weekend, a mixed CD with songs that—god, this is lame—but they remind me of you, and some other stuff too.”

“There are songs that remind you of me?” Tadashi asks giddily.

Tsukki stares at him like he’s grown a second head.

“Of course, string bean. Of course there are.”

“You think about me…a lot?”

“Eighteen months together to the day,” says Tsukki, “and you think I don’t think about you?”

Tadashi blinks. “You knew it was today, Tsukki?”

“Yes. I knew it was today. That’s why I’m here at midnight,” Tsukki drones and pushes up the sleeve of his purple sweatshirt to check his watch—the big, clunky one Tadashi’s grandmother had gotten him last Christmas. “It’s quarter after,” he notes, and moves to show Tadashi like he thinks he won’t believe him.

But Tadashi can’t make out the numbers with his tears blurring his vision.

“Oh god,” he whimpers, “oh my god. I am so stupid.”

He sinks to the floor, pulls his knees to his chest, and buries his head in his hands. His palms are wet within seconds and he can feel Tsukki looming over him, can picture the way his pretty eyes widen with concern. 

“I’m _such an idiot_ , Tsukki,” he warbles.

He thinks of his doubt. He thinks of their eighteen months together. He thinks of Tsukki’s blunt fingernails scraping over his thighs and how the skin of their palms slide together masterfully. He thinks of the items that cover his bed, the cards and lists and letters and gifts and so many things he’d asked for; things that Tsukki has granted him; things that Tadashi thought he needed. 

He thinks of how he never needed a single one of them.

Because the proof he needs is right in front of him, breathing, staring, kneeling down to meet his gaze with two pale, bracing hands on Tadashi’s knees. His proof blinks its golden, gleaming eyes.

“Don’t cry,” his proof gently requests of him.

Tadashi throws his arms around his neck to pull him close and Tsukki promptly loses his balance, landing on his knees between Tadashi’s legs. He slowly winds his arms around Tadashi’s middle. Tadashi always feels so safe when he does this.

“Tsukki—Kei,” he mumbles into his neck, “do you love me?”

Tsukki hooks his chin over Tadashi’s shoulder.

“I’m in love with you, if that’s what you’re asking,” he says quietly, so quietly.

Tadashi squeezes his eyes shut. The last of his tears roll down his red cheeks and he nods enthusiastically into the crook of Tsukki’s neck. His hands scrabble over his back in his desperation to touch, to grope, to caress. His proof is so very tangible.

Tadashi pulls back with a sniffle, but not far because Tsukki still holds onto him tight.

“You really are?” he asks.

“I am,” Tsukki murmurs. “I’m the one that confessed to you, remember?”

“Because I was too chickenshit to do it myself.”

“I don’t know about _that_.”

Tadashi gives a warbled laugh. Carefully, he pulls Tsukki’s glasses from his face.

“Are you going to kiss me or tackle me?” Tsukki wonders.

“Maybe both.”

He hums. “Start with the former.”

Tadashi kisses the smirk from Tsukki’s lips. Their faces are warm between each other’s hands. When Tsukki leans back and stands up, he pulls Tadashi up after him. The colorful mess of papers and candies on the bed catches their eyes.

Tadashi lets out a surprised sound when Tsukki wraps his arms around his waist and lifts him. He subsequently leans up and catches his open mouth in an ardent kiss. Tsukki hums when Tadashi grabs his firm shoulders to steady himself, his head spinning pleasant if not dizzying circles. They laugh into each others mouths for no real reason and Tadashi wonders how on earth he could ever doubt this.

The papers crinkle loudly underneath Tadashi’s back when Tsukki sets him down. He leans over him and Tadashi is lost for words. He brings Tsukki to him with a hand on the back of his neck and they kiss once, twice, three times before Tsukki pulls back. An inquiry swirls in his amber eyes, blown wide.

“Hey,” he pants, “did you get your proof?”

Tadashi beams up at him. His proof waits patiently for an answer.

“Undoubtedly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //whispers// tsukishima's passcode spells out YAMA /////slinks away
> 
> comments and kudos are so very appreciated!
> 
> <3


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